


Doesn't Always Stay in a Motel Bathroom

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Coughing, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Influenza, Sam Winchester Whump, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Sneezing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: Poor Sammy catches Dean's virus.





	Doesn't Always Stay in a Motel Bathroom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Happens in a Motel Bathroom...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989785) by [Pineprin137](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137). 



> This is a companion piece to What Happens in a Motel Bathroom... in which Dean comes down with the flu and Sam takes care of him.  
> Not sure why this one is so much longer though! I don't write Sam-centric often, for good reason. 
> 
> Warning!!!!!!  
> Heed the tags! Things get nasty.  
> This isn't strictly Wincest, but it can be read as such if you desire.

Sam chuckled weakly as Dean slid into the diner booth opposite him and laid his head down on the table.

“You okay over there?”

Dean groaned and gave a thumbs up without lifting his head from his arms.

His poor brother was on the last legs of a particularly nasty flu that had kept them in town for three extra days after their last case. Sam had spent the time reading up on possible hunts while Dean recovered. This morning was the first time since the case ended that Dean announced he was actually hungry. They hadn’t wanted to push it so they chose plain oatmeal and water to drink.

Once they were on the road though, his brother hadn’t turned on the radio or even attempted a conversation. Dean was still slightly sniffly and he had a stubborn cough that didn’t want to go away, but at least he wasn’t nauseous anymore.

“Maybe you should let me drive after we finish up here? We only have five hours till we cross into Kansas, and then maybe two hours tops before we make it home.” Dean remained silent, but he did reach into the pocket of his jacket and slide the keys across the table. Sam’s eyes widened at the action, but he was prevented from asking any more questions by the arrival of their waitress.

“Hi there, my name is Shelly and I’ll be serving you fine gentlemen today. What can I get you?”

Sam did a cursory glance at the menu, looked up to find Dean still hadn’t moved, and answered for both of them, “Um...I’ll take a baked potato, with butter and sour cream, please, and a side salad with...Italian dr--” Sam was interrupted by a series of deep coughs coming from across him. He and the waitress both waited patiently until Dean was done before continuing, “--Italian dressing. And he’ll just have...uh, the grilled cheese with tomato soup. Water for both of us, please.”

“Sure thing, hon. I’ll have those waters right out.” Shelly quickly picked up the menus then departed to get their drinks. Dean sniffled and Sam grabbed a napkin from the dispenser before offering it to him.

“Here.” A hand snaked out and took the napkin. He heard a mumbled thanks and then Dean blowing his nose. The used tissue didn’t reappear so Sam assumed his brother had stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket.

Sam let his brother rest while he read through a few messages on his phone. He took a look at his email and saw that the sheriff he contacted regarding a possible case had responded. He read through it quickly and came to the conclusion that there was indeed a case. It didn’t seem high priority though, so it could probably wait until after they got back and got at least one night’s sleep in the bunker. Sam rubbed his nose absently when he felt a slight tickle and pulled up the notes he had taken. Everything pointed to a non-malevolent haunting by a young girl’s ghost.

Sam took a sip from his water glass (when had that appeared?) and cleared his throat. The girl was killed in the seventies by a fall down the stairs of an old farm--his breath hitched and he frantically brought his hands up to his face to catch the sneeze. Sam grabbed the napkin being held out to him and met his brother’s amused gaze.

“Bless you.” Sam sneezed twice more into the napkin and then blew his nose. “Geez, dude. Haven’t I told you it’s bad to snort pepper?”

Sam used his best bitchface, then addressed his brother, “Thank you. And I’m fine. Just something tickling my nose.” He set his phone down and crossed his arms over his chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh. I’ve been better.” His brother paused to snort. “Then again, I’ve been a helluva lot worse too.” Dean reached for his water glass and took a sip.

“Queasy?”

“Actually no, thank God.” Sam was thrilled to see the signature smirk back on Dean’s face. He watched as Dean winced after he took another drink.

“Throat still bothering you?” Dean nodded just as Shelly came back to the table with their food. She set down Sam’s salad and potato, then place a cup of what he assumed was Italian dressing. The potato already had blobs of sour cream and butter on it. She turned to Dean and smiled softly before setting down his plate.

“And the grilled cheese with tomato soup for you, hon.” Dean smiled and nodded in place of saying thank you. Oh yeah, Sam thought, his throat is definitely still sore. “Anything else you boys need?” They both shook their heads. “Alright, if you think of anything just let me know.”

Sam opened his packet of dressing and poured half of it over his salad while Dean took a tentative bite of his grilled cheese. Dean chewed slowly and grimaced when he finally swallowed. He set the sandwich down and picked up the soup spoon.

“Mmmm.” Dean closed his eyes and moaned as the warm soup soothed his throat. That was more like it. Sam watched him between bites of crunchy lettuce and buttery potato. The sandwich was abandoned in favor of the creamy tomato soup. Dean finished the entire bowl and two glasses of water, then sat back and observed his brother. Sam kept clearing his throat and Dean could see a slight sheen of sweat near his collar every time he leaned forward. For now, he would just monitor the progression of his brother’s descent into sickness and convince Sam to stop at the store for more meds before they got back.

“So, Samantha, what’s the plan?”

Sam rolled his eyes, then coughed, and took another drink. Geez, whatever was stuck in his throat simply removed to budge. He swallowed a few more times to try to get rid of the annoyance, then looked up at his brother. “Well, I found another case. A haunting in Rhode Island, but it doesn’t seem to be malevolent so I thought we could head back to the bunker--” Sam held up a hand to warn off Dean’s protest, “--just for a night or two, then we can head out. I’m pretty sure it’s a spirit of a little girl who died from a nasty fall down a staircase, but I want to do a little more checking before we head out.”

Dean pursed his lips in thought. He hated putting off a case, but the extra night and more research would give him an excuse to check up on Sam.  It would be easier to keep track of how his brother was feeling in the bunker rather than on a case where there were distractions. “Fine. We can head out Friday morning.” Dean smiled to himself, Sam seemed appeased by his response and none the wiser to his brother’s ulterior motive.

Sam fumbled for another napkin just as Shelly returned and laid down the bill. He buried his face in the makeshift tissue and let loose a rather powerful sneeze that began a slight throb in his head. “Oh, my, God bless you!” The waitress had been startled by the sudden noise, but Dean simply lifted his hips slightly so he could pull his wallet out and laid a twenty and a five on the table.

Sam’s ears turned red when he mumbled, “thanks.” The waitress simply offered him a kind smile.

“Ready?” Dean asked his blushing brother. Sam nodded and they got up, bidding goodbye to Shelly and the quaint diner. As soon as they stepped outside, Dean grabbed the used napkin from his pocket and turned away to sneeze into it.

“Bless you.” Sam grabbed his sunglasses and walked to the driver’s door while Dean blew his nose once again and walked around the car. The Impala was sun-warmed and Sam was thankful. A slight chill had settled over him while sitting in the diner and it felt good relaxing back into the soft leather. Dean fished a similar pair of sunglasses from the glovebox, then yawned and settled back with his head resting on the top of the seat.

 

As he drove, Sam assessed how he was feeling and reluctantly admitted to himself that he was probably coming down with his brother’s flu. His nose was running, his head ached, his throat was scratchy, and the baked potato and salad he had for lunch were swirling uncomfortably in his stomach. He used one hand to massage his temple while the other steered the car. Dean was still snoring next to him, so he decided to stop at the next town and see if he could find a drugstore.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot of CVS in Junction City, Sam was in desperate need of tissues. He had quickly depleted their stash of napkins in the glove box and had to resort to using his shirt sleeve for the last twenty or so miles. He quickly parked the car, confirmed Dean was still asleep, grabbed the keys, then headed inside. He beelined for the cold and flu aisle and grabbed the first box of tissues he saw. His breath hitched as he tore open the box and pulled one out. The sneezing fit bent him double and made him lose his grip on the box. After Sam caught his breath, he retrieved the box from the floor and righted himself. He sniffled and coughed when snot slid down his throat. Shit. He hated being sick.

Dean opened his eyes and rubbed his face before looking over and seeing the empty driver’s side. He leaned towards the window and saw the red C-V-S letters on the building. He yawned and then turned his mouth against his shoulder when the dry air hitting his throat made him cough.  Ugh. He was so done with this stupid cold/flu thing. It seemed his nap had helped ease his headache some and even his nose didn’t seem as congested as it did this morning, but that fucking cough...it would not go away.

Dean looked up and saw Sam come out of the store with a plastic bag in each hand. His brother’s hazel eyes looked tired and there was a slight crease in his forehead that suggested a headache. Yup, Sam had definitely caught his bug. Sam weakly smiled when he saw Dean awake and then opened the door and got in. He didn’t even bother putting the bags in the trunk, just grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and popped two liquid gel capsules from the blister pack before tossing the rest of his purchases in the backseat.

“You want me to drive?” Sam looked over at Dean and shook his head.

“Nah, we’ve only got two hours left. I’ll be fine.”

“Think it’s what I have--had?” Dean corrected himself as Sam swallowed the pills with a gulp of the orange drink.

“Probably.”

Dean laid a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed slightly. “Hang in there, kiddo. Just a few more hours and then you can sleep in your own bed.” Sam glanced at him. Dean smiled and withdrew his hand.

They ended up switching only thirty minutes later when Sam’s belly started to really bother him. At first, he had squirmed and twisted, but then finally settled down with one hand on his aching stomach and the other propping his head up against the window.  Dean kept giving his brother worried glances as he fitfully dozed. Dean had never been more relieved to see the _Welcome to Lebanon_ sign announcing their arrival. Fifteen minutes later he pulled Baby into the bunker’s garage.

“Sammy? We’re home.” Dean shook his brother’s shoulder gently to wake him.

Sam opened his eyes and yawned, pushing a hand through his messy hair. He looked around and then opened his door and got out. Dean followed after removing the keys from the ignition and giving his girl an affectionate pat. Sam disappeared inside so Dean gathered up their bags, including the one from the drugstore, and then walked through the door. The room was empty so he assumed Sam had headed straight for his bedroom to lie down. He dropped off their hunting duffel in the war room before carrying the plastic bag to his brother’s room.

Dean knocked softly on the open door so as not to scare his sick brother, who was sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from the door. “Sam?”

“Hm?” He could see the tension in Sam’s body from where he stood in the doorway. The younger Winchester had one arm resting on his stomach and the other supporting him while the room spun.

“You okay?” Dean slowly entered the room and set the bag on the dresser.

“Mmm.” Sam focused on breathing slowly and kept his eyes clenched shut even as he heard Dean come in.

Dean knelt down to grab the rim of the trashcan underneath Sam’s desk and then walked over in front of him. He crouched down and laid his hand on his brother’s knee while he set the bin down to the side.

“Sammy, look at me.” Sam opened his eyes at the sound of Dean’s soft voice and moved the hand on the bed onto his brother’s hand. Dean frowned at the fear in his hazel eyes and pushed back his hair to cup the side of his head. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Head, stomach. Stomach’s worse.” Dean gently stroked his hair.

“Gonna puke?” Sam nodded and Dean picked up the trash can before getting up and sitting next to him on the bed. Sam took the bin from his hands and settled it in his lap before resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. His big brother wrapped an arm around him and held him while the sick feeling grew. Eventually, he couldn’t wait any longer so he sat up and hunched forward over the garbage. As soon as he positioned himself over the discarded papers and granola bar wrappers, his mouth filled with saliva and he hung it open. Dean continued to murmur soft assurances and gently held his long hair back from his face.  

“Dee…” Sam leaned further into the bin when he felt liquid travel up his throat.

“I know, Sammy. It’ll be over soon.” Dean looked away as Sam’s body heaved and a splash of sick hit the side of the bin. He heard a whimper echo against the inside of the metal can and winced in sympathy. He had been in the same position just a few days ago, so he was well aware of how much puking was irritating Sam’s throat.

Sam clung to the can with one hand, while the other fisted in Dean’s shirt. He coughed as the next wave caused the creamy brown liquid to shoot out of his nose. He snorted to try and clear it, but his stomach cramped again and another rush of digested lunch filled his mouth. He emptied it into the rapidly filling trash can and groaned. Dean held his brother stable while they sat on the bed and only loosened it when the heaving stopped.

“Think you’re done for now?” The flop of brown hair nodded and Dean set the bin on the floor for the moment. He used the bottom of his shirt to clean Sam’s face off and then allowed his little brother to collapse against him. Sam struggled to catch his breath even as his eyes drooped and his head dropped to Dean’s lap. Dean smoothed back Sam’s sweaty hair and used his booted foot to scoot the sick-filled trash can further to his right. He didn’t want the smell to start Sam off again.

“Water?” He saw Sam give a faint nod from his lap. “Alright, then we’ll get you changed and you can sleep. Okay?” This time Sam barely nodded at all. The sickness had taken a lot out of him and he was exhausted. Dean eased his head up, then stood up and pulled a pillow over before laying Sam’s head back down. He grabbed the dirty bin on his way out and pulled the door halfway closed.

Dean quickly made his through the bunker and outside to the large garbage can. He didn’t want to risk a clog by forcing the soiled papers down the toilet. Ha had to set the can down when he coughed roughly and proceeded to gag. Dean held one hand against the brick wall as he leaned over and threw up. He was fairly certain it had been the awful odor lingering in the metal trash can and the coughing fit that caused him to get sick rather than leftover flu symptoms. He spat a few times to clear his mouth, then wiped it with the back of his hand and picked up the empty can before heading back inside.

He stopped by the bathroom to relieve his aching bladder and rinsed the can out. He washed his hands and then walked back to Sam’s room with the now-clean trash bin in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

Sam was asleep on the bed with his mouth open slightly. Soft snores had Dean smiling as he dug through the CVS bag and pulled out the half-drunk bottle of Gatorade and the opened box of tissues. He set both on the nightstand next to the glass of water then made his way over to the dresser. Digging around he finally unearthed a gray t-shirt and a pair of dark blue boxer briefs. Then he squatted down so he could pull out a pair of soft cotton sleep pants. He carried the stack over to the bed and rolled Sam this-way-and-that until he had removed all of the sweaty clothes and dressed him in the clean ones.

Once that task was complete, he pulled the covers out from under his brother’s body and pulled them up to his waist. He leaned down and kissed Sam’s sweaty forehead before taking the soiled clothes to the wash and heading to his own room. Dean undressed quickly, pausing to cough, yet again, and then plugged his phone in to charge, double-checked that his door was open enough that he would be able to hear Sam when he woke and slid under the covers. Just before Dean closed his eyes, he caught the numbers on his clock. The glowing red digits stated that it was only four-fifteen in the afternoon.

Dean shrugged and yawned. He flopped onto his belly and snuggled into his pillow. Sam was sick and he was still fighting the last legs of the illness himself. The world would just have to save itself while the Winchesters recuperated. After everything he and his brother had done over the years, they damn well deserved a few days of rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Comments and kudos always welcome. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this or any of my other SPN works, you should check out ficfacer.com and bid on me (Pineprin137)! All the proceeds go to help out a wonderful charity and you get a personalized story written by yours truly :) 
> 
> Okay, self-promotion over. My apologies, I got a little excited.


End file.
